


Cold Feet

by vitamindesi



Series: It's A Bet 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitamindesi/pseuds/vitamindesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel are planning their wedding. This is set roughly two years after the proposal. This is mainly a flashback fic, delving into a big reason that lengthened their engagement.<br/>Angst, angst, and even more angst. Be warned. There's like a two sentence bit of smut; not the main priority of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> This is a timestamp to my fic called "It's A Bet". This is growing into an ongoing 'verse, so....let me know your thoughts of this!

“That’s it. I change my mind. I’m not doing this.”

Sam sighed exasperatedly, leveling a glare at Dean. “That’s the thirtieth time you’ve said this, Dean. Come on, I think we’ve almost found the one.”

Dean pouted at his little brother, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Man, I feel like a penguin! Why can’t I just take Cas to Vegas and sign a couple of papers?”

Sam merely raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Because you know he deserves better than that and he would kick your ass seven ways to Sunday if you did that.”

Even though it was true, it didn’t provide any more motivation for Dean to continue searching for a suit. When it came down to it, he’d rather have had Castiel, or even Bobby by his side for this whole ordeal. Sam was just...too sympathetic, nodding along with each of Dean’s complaints about the suits, about his nervousness of getting married, about the overwhelming strength of his feelings for Castiel. He was just so... _understanding_. It was great, but when it came down to it, it wasn’t what Dean needed. He needed someone to take him by the shoulders and shake those thoughts from his head, to call him-

“You damn idgit, ya been here for _hours_ , why don’t you have a suit picked! Damn thing should already be fitted and everything!”

Dean jerked and turned towards the front doors where Bobby was striding in, Ellen and Jo in tow. He was the only one that didn’t have an ice cream cone in his hand; instead, his hands were tight on his hips, his face fixed into a glare.

“Bobby!” Dean cried gratefully. “You’re here! Help!”

“Hey!” Sam protested, shooting Dean a look.

“Go to the bookstore, Sam,” Bobby dismissed him. “We got it from here.”

“Guys!” he cried. “I’m almost eighteen. I do know how this stuff works! I’ve lived with him my whole life!”

They all stared at him for a handful of seconds before Jo reached up and looped her arm around his. “Let’s go, Sammy. Don’t you have college applications to be filling out?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

With Sam and Jo gone, Ellen pinned Dean with a glare of her own. “Boy, I don’t know what has your knees a-quaking, but you need to pick a damn suit, like, _yesterday_.”

Dean stared guiltily at the floor. Castiel had chosen his suit the week before and had picked it up from the tailor the day before. He would sit with Jo on a pretty regular basis, discussing plans for their wedding, designs, reception favors. Dean would hide in the other room while they did this, pathetically eavesdropping and having his own mental running commentary.

They had been engaged for just over two years, in which Castiel gradually gotten promoted in his job, as did Dean at the garage. Castiel was now developing treatments for the students at the daycare, working alongside their teachers and parents to help them develop on a more typical path. Dean worked with Bobby, which frankly, he hated. It was dealing with more cranky customers, more math and more organization than he’d ever bothered with. He was lucky if he got his hands on two cars a week. The pay was higher, which was awesome, and the only reason he dealt with it.

About eight months ago, though, Castiel and Dean were laying in bed together, their legs tangled together sleepily, when Castiel sat up a little bit and asked, “when do you want to get married?”

Dean froze, his palm stuttering where it had been running soothingly up and down Castiel’s arm. “Umm.” _Eloquent_.

In the dark, Dean could see Castiel’s sympathetic smile. “I was just wondering, because we’ve been engaged for over a year now and we both have jobs to help us afford a nice wedding. So maybe we should start planning.”

And Dean, being dense and terrified as he was, merely leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Castiel’s mouth and said, “you are so totally right, babe.”

It was as if he had set a forest fire in his own home. The very next day, Castiel came home with pamphlets and printouts of potential wedding venues. He had a composition notebook that he and Jo would pass back and forth, pasting ideas and writing little notes to themselves in it. They’d discuss wedding favors and color schemes and Dean would sit in the other room, rubbing his clammy palms over his jeans, wondering if his panic would ever subside.

Months went by, a date was picked and Dean could only recall snatches of that conversation and the very clear declaration that Castiel had made: “Okay. We’re getting married on Friday, August second.” He nodded with finality and left Dean sitting on their bed, shell-shocked, heart racing.

Fast forward five months, and Dean was cornered in a Men’s Wearhouse with both Bobby and Ellen giving him a glare that would put him six feet under. “So?” Ellen finally said. “The hell is your problem?”

Dean glanced around and finally plopped down on one of the plush couches near the fitting rooms. The suit he was trying on pressed uncomfortably into his thighs, his hips. “I just...I don’t _know_! This is _huge_ , okay? And like, no one gave me a guidebook on “how to get gay married and live happily ever after” and I think about waking up with him every day and I feel like I can’t breathe because, yeah, I’m _excited_ , but why do we have to do it in front of everyone? Why does it have to be such a huge deal? I love him, it’s common knowledge already! Honestly, just being with him is enough, even without the governmental officialities. It’s just all this hub-bub and I _hate_ suits and I _hate_ planning this shit and jesus christ on a cracker, I’m going to be a shitty husband aren’t I?” By the time he finished talking he was panting and the suit felt a little hotter than he wanted it to be.

Ellen and Bobby were staring at him, mouths agape. The silence that ensued felt heavy and stifling and he got the growing feeling in his gut that he’d just made a huge mistake.

The sound of shuffling footsteps reached his ear and someone swung around the corner. Dean was about to snap at the fitting guy, tell him he wouldn’t be buying a suit today, or ever, for that matter, but he looked up and the air was punched right from his lungs. Castiel stood there, holding a crisp dark blue suit on a hanger, a blood red tie slung over his shoulder. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eye that had seduced Dean at that party so many years ago. “What about this one?” he asked.

Dean could only stare, his eyes shifting over to where Ellen and Bobby were sitting, now looking smug. “We’ll see you boys back at the house,” Ellen said. “Dinner’s on at six.”

They didn’t even acknowledge their departure before Castiel was crushing Dean to him, pressing soft kisses to the shell of his ear as he pushed him insistently towards the doors of the fitting room. “Why didn’t you tell me, you dumb bastard? This whole time I just thought you had cold feet.”

The door clicked softly shut behind them. Dean snorted. “It _is_ cold feet, you weirdo. I basically just said I’d rather elope with you!”

Castiel only snorted, hanging up the suit he’d had in his hands before working on the buttons of the suit Dean was currently wearing. “Yeah, but you never said you didn’t want to marry me at all. That would be cold feet. You merely said that the theatrics of marriage frighten you, and that’s okay.

Dean grumbled as Castiel tugged the shirt from his shoulder. “They don’t _frighten_ me; I’m not a girl. I just….what if I fuck it up?” the question was asked so earnestly and quietly that Castiel paused in undressing Dean to look him directly in the eye. The terror he found there nearly brought him to his knees.

“Dean,” he murmured, cupping his hand’s on Dean’s cheeks. “We’ll do this together. I’m with you, every step of the way. You just need to let me, okay?” Dean only nodded, removing the suit the rest of the way so that he stood naked, save for his boxer briefs. He reached for the suit that Castiel had hung on the door, but Castiel rested a gentle hand on his chest.

Dean cocked his head, and then caught the look on Castiel’s face. “Cas...no. You can’t be-”

“Why not?”

Dean sputtered, “We’re in _Men’s Wearhouse_ , Cas! Not Sex In the City! You can’t just give me a blowjob in the fitting room; we’ll get arrested!”

Castiel only shrugged, running a teasing hand over the waistband of Dean’s briefs. “It’s just stress relief.”

Dean gave a nervous laugh and maneuvered Castiel’s hand away from his body. “How about we save stress relief for tonight, in our own bed, where we run no risk of getting arrested?”

Another shrug and Castiel conceded, opting to help Dean step into the trousers, slide the shirt over his broad shoulders and shimmy into the jacket. With agile fingers, he looped the tie around Dean’s neck and knotted it snuggly at the base of his neck. With that, he tugged Dean from the fitting room and in front of the mirror.

There was a pause, a pregnant silence, and Dean let out a heavy breath. The suit fit him nicely, hugging his muscles and his chest. He shifted, and caught a shimmer of golden thread in the red tie. “Cas, this is…how’d you find this?”

Castiel smiled smugly, straightening the sleeves of Dean’s suit, flattening his collar. “I told the gentleman up front that my...fiancee is a tough, masculine guy and black and white just doesn’t do him justice. And he went and chose this for me. Perfect, don’t you think?”

Dean tucked his fingers into the front of the jacket, turning around slightly to see himself in the mirror. “Yeah, it kinda is,” he said, something like wonder in his voice.

“Now,” Castiel said decisively. “Can we please go get this marked to be fitted just right for you so I can take you home and maybe, just _maybe_ , fuck all that insecure nonsense right out of your head?”

Dean’s eyes widened and his throat clicked as he swallowed. He nodded wordlessly and Castiel turned away from him, calling for the tailor.

* * *

For the first time since they chose a wedding date, Dean slept soundly, free of the tossing and turning that typically kept them both up. After their dinner (“steak, because our boy finally pulled his head outta his ass…again!”), Castiel had pulled Dean into their room, shutting the door and locking it. He flicked on Dean’s iTunes playlist, the sounds of Metallica filling the room. They had maybe an hour before Bobby came and banged on their door, demanding to turn it down so everyone could sleep.

It was an hour that Castiel took full advantage of. “You’ll have to be quiet,” he’d whispered devilishly before taking a tie and pulling it between Dean’s lips, knotting it snuggly at the back of his head. “Just in case.” He winked at Dean before rolling him to his stomach and fucking him like it was the last time they’d ever be on that bed.

Dean was sated and happy, asleep before Castiel even pulled the blankets over them after cleaning them up. Castiel stayed awake though, propped up on his elbow and tracing lines over Dean’s resting face with his fingertip.

It was odd, thinking of their history and the leaps that they had taken together to get to where they were now. Dean had been the perfect blushing bride for the first three months after he had proposed. The guys at work had always made comments whenever Dean would come in and carefully stow his ring in his locker. He came home quite frequently with towel burn marks from he and Benny messing around. When the old ladies at the grocery store asked Dean about the ring, he proudly hauled Castiel over and under his arm and launched into the story of how the proposal happened (conveniently leaving out the sobbing done by both of them).

And then Sam and Jo started bothering them about choosing a date, deciding on venues. Both he and Dean brushed them off, and then the discussion got pushed back ever later after a particularly difficult argument they’d had one night.

Bobby had gone out for dinner and a movie with Sam, Jo, and Ellen. It’d been a while since they had all done something together; life had caught up to them painfully fast. Dean opted to stay home instead of going out. He told Bobby he’d wanted to spend the evening with Castiel, as their schedules hadn’t been matching up as of late, but really he was glued to his laptop, looking up undergrad programs for mechanical engineering. He’d found two or three that looked promising until he saw the tuition cost and the course requirements. He’d barely maintained his B average getting his Associates degree...but to maintain that through another two years of higher level courses? Hell no.

Castiel had come home, weary and exhausted, already emotionally strained from having to restrain two of his kids during the day. Dean laid him out over their bed, straddling his hips and pressing warm palms into his back, kneading out the sore muscles. Castiel flinched though, after a few minutes. “Dean?” he asked, his voice muffled by the pillows. “Are you alright?”

Dean dug his thumbs in right by Castiel’s spine, relishing in the moan it produced. “Yeah, Cas, I’m good. Relax, you aren’t at work anymore.”

There was a few more minutes in which Castiel allowed himself to absorb the pleasure of a warm massage before he rolled over, tumbling Dean to the other side of the bed. He frowned, sitting up to one side. “Dean, you feel really off. What’s going on?”

And, damn it, the day would never come that Dean would be able to pull a fast one on Castiel. He was just so damn observant and empathic; it was impossible. He shrugged, dropping his eyes to stare at his crossed legs. “You remember how we said I’d think about going for my bachelor’s?” Castiel nodded slowly. “I don’t think I can do it.”

The silence was heavy, the tension from that lone statement almost palpable. Castiel sat still as a statue, eyes trained on Dean, piercing as knife blades, right into his heart the moment he looked up. “Why?” The question was uttered quietly, almost sadly.

Dean sighed, wringing his hands. “Well, firstly it’s just so expensive and that alone is intimidating as hell. On top of that, the course load is going to be way harder. I’m probably only going to be able to take two classes at a time just so my GPA doesn’t get fucked up and it’ll take me ten years at least to graduate. I can’t do it, man. I just can’t.”

Castiel’s face looked dark and stormy, his blue eyes hard and angry. Dean swallowed harshly, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Instead, Castiel’s voice was quiet, and almost pained when he asked, “why must you always do this?”

Dean kept his head down. “What?”

Castiel clenched his fists at his side, rage and desperation boiling up inside of him, exploding from his mouth. “ _This_ , Dean, this! Every fucking time you might get close to success or happiness, you give up! It’s suddenly unreachable, impossible to attain. You don’t even _think_ to give yourself a chance, you just quit before you’re even at the starting block!

Dean bristled, his back straightening. “What the fuck are you saying, Cas?” his voice was low, dark.

“I’m saying that I’m fucking sick of watching you do this to yourself! I’m sick of watching you hang yourself on the safety lines you get thrown. I swear if I hadn’t been the one to propose, then you would have chickened out as soon as you thought of it yourself and we’d have never made it here!” Castiel’s voice grew louder as he spoke, his eyes flashing dangerously when they met Dean’s.

Apparently, though, that had been the wrong thing to say. Dean shut his mouth with a _click_ and pushed himself off of the bed. “Really, Cas?” his voice was quiet, masked with indifference. “If that’s how you really feel, then get out.”

Castiel blinked once, twice. “W-what?” he was suddenly reeling, backpedaling, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d went off track in the conversation.

Dean brought his head up, leveling Castiel with a forgiveless glare. “I _said, get the fuck out_.”

Castiel licked his lips, fighting to bring some semblance of control back to the conversation. “Dean, what are you-I didn’t mean-”

“The _fuck_ you didn’t mean it, Castiel.” And that’s when he knew he was truly and royally fucked; Dean hardly used his full name and when he did, it was either playfully or in rage. “I heard you loud and clear- I’m too chickenshit for you. So here’s me not being chickenshit: get the _fuck_ out of my house.”

Castiel stood and staggered; his legs felt like jello beneath him, unattached to the rest of his body. “Dean,” he gasped. “Dean, you don’t mean that. Please, you’re overreacting, please, Dean-”

Dean’s eyes were normally cheery, even when tired they held a glint of light, of happiness. Now, though, they looked the color of seafoam, the kind that warned you of an impending storm. They were terrifying and Castiel found himself stepping backwards instead of going towards the door. “Don’t fucking tell me what I do and don’t mean Castiel. I do mean it. Get out, leave. I grew up my _entire_ fucking life hearing that I’m not good enough and newsflash angel-boy: _I don’t need it from you too,_ ” the last sentence was hissed out from between clenched teeth.

Castiel whimpered, the sound foreign to his own ears as he drew his arms around himself. “Dean…”

“I said _get out_!” Dean shouted. Castiel flinched, tripping over himself to grab his shoes and jacket before sprinting from Dean’s room. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed in his heart.

Sam found Dean the next morning, snoring in his bed, alone, save for the empty bottle of Jack Daniels clutched tightly to his chest. He nearly bled, he bit his lip so hard, wanting to call out to Bobby, to Ellen. Instead, he quietly closed Dean’s door and sent a prayer to the heavens that his brother would be able to sort this out.

It took two and a half weeks. Two and a half weeks of walking on eggshells around Dean, two and a half weeks of hiding the available alcohol in the shoeboxes under Bobby’s bed and putting up with Dean’s most depressing music, blasting relentlessly from behind his closed door.

It took two and a half weeks for Castiel to work up the courage to come back, taking advantage of the key he’d never had any intention of returning. Sam was spending the day with Adam and Jess, either studying or playing Mario Party, which was typical when the three of them tried to study together. Dean and Bobby were still at the garage; the house was empty and quiet.

Castiel choked on a sob and threw himself onto Dean’s bed. The sheets hadn’t been changed since before their fight and Castiel relished in it, inhaling the scent of Dean, wrapping it around himself. He didn’t realize that he’d actually begun to cry until he’d felt the growing damp patch of blanket beneath his face. He hastily sat up and wiped his face but it was to no avail; he was crying harder than ever. Rather than fighting it, he buried his face in the blankets, clinging to them, getting as close to Dean as he felt he could at that moment.

That was how Dean found him an hour later, wrapped up in the comforter, half asleep, his face contorted into what could only be interpreted as pain. “Cas?” he asked hesitantly, toeing off his shoes and throwing his jacket over the chair.

On the bed, Castiel jolted and jerked upright, his hair in messy disarray. He cheeks were dotted with pink splotches, his eyes red and swollen. “Dean,” he said, his voice sleepy but delicate with wonder. “You’re back, you came back.”

“Cas...you aren’t making any sense, buddy. What’s going on?”

He crossed his arms and Castiel caught the flash of gold on Dean’s hand and his heart swelled so quickly with hope he thought he’d burst. “You-you’re still wearing it,” he gasped, getting to his hands and knees to crawl to the end of the bed. He tugged Dean’s arm away from his side, cradling Dean’s hand to his chest. “You’re still wearing it, you didn’t take it off, oh my god, you didn’t take it off,” he babbled.

Fear was tingling in Dean’s palms. He’d never seen Castiel like this. He’d seen him drunk, high as a kite, pissed, flustered, well and truly fucked out, but he had never ever seen Castiel so desperate. The sight made his heart hurt with a pain so sharp it took his breath away. “Cas, are you okay?” he struggled to keep his voice level.

Castiel curled in on himself then, dropping Dean’s hand, sobs wrenched from his gut, shivers wracking his frame. “I thought- _shit_ Dean, did I lose you? Do you not want me anymore? I know I fucked up, I’m always the one fucking up here, but I can’t lose you. I c-can’t fuck-fucking _lose you_.”

“Cas, Jesus Christ, no, I’m _right here_!” Dean scrambled for something to say, something to make Castiel stop making that awful keening sound of pain.

Instead, that only amplified it. A wail fell from Castiel’s mouth and he tried to talk again. “But are you? I fucked up, D-Dean! A-a-and I’m so goddamn tired of _hurting_ you, I’m always the one to hurt you! I’m a shitty fiancee. Shitty, shitty fiancee! Ex-fiancee. What-whatever. I’m just-I’m fucking _shitty_!” His nails were digging into his arms now, scratching roughly down the milky skin that dean had once spent half an hour worshipping.

“Cas, stop, stop that please,” Dean pleaded, collapsing onto the bed with Castiel, trying to unfurl his body, pull his hands away from his arms where little beads of blood were springing up. Castiel acquiesced, but the motion was weak, half-hearted; he’d stopped only because Dean had asked him to. Dean gathered him into his arms, pulling Castiel into his lap, onto his chest, cradling him delicately.

“Cas, this is just as much my fault as it is yours. I fucked up too. I overreacted; you were right about that much.” Castiel sniffled weakly into his chest, his hands now curled tightly around Dean’s T-shirt. “I had no right to kick you out like that. This is just as much of a home to you as it is to me. We’ve been engaged for almost four months...you’ve been living with us for like two years...I had no right.”

“But you wanted to get rid of me,” Castiel replied, his voice wrecked. He inhaled, a hiccuping breath that made Dean only hold him tighter.

“You hurt me Cas,” Dean breathed into his hair. “And I lashed out. I didn’t communicate with you like a grown ass man. I acted like a child and kicked you out. I shouldn’t have done that. I never, ever, _ever_ want to be rid of you.”

“How are we going to get past this, Dean?” Castiel asked, his words muffled by Dean’s chest.

“How we always get past things babe,” Dean replied, forcing lightness into his voice. “Together.”

“Vague,” Castiel mumbled. His grip on Dean’s shirt was beginning to relax, his body not so stiff anymore.

Dean huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Well for starters, can we focus on only one big thing at a time, here?”

“Like?”

“Like…. _maybe_ me applying for a bachelors program. And _then_ we can focus on getting married and stuff...I just. There’s too much shit for me to focus on here, and of course I’m going to prioritize you over school, you had to know that. I’m with you, and I’m happy about that. We can get married tomorrow or seventy years from now, for all I care. I have you now, and that makes me happy.”

Castiel snorted into Dean’s shirt. “Dean, I hardly think either of us is going to make it to ninety-something.”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped back, but a smile- a true smile- was growing on his face. “So, can we do that, Cas? One thing at a time?”

Castiel finally pulled his face away from Dean’s chest. His eyes were growing steadily brighter, hopeful. “Yes, Dean, I believe that we can. But for now, can we sleep? I…I missed having you next to me. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Speaking of that,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Where _did_ you go?”

“Crowley’s,” Castiel mumbled under his breath. Beneath him, Dean stiffened. He placed a gentle hand on Dean’s chest. “Don’t. Please don’t,” he murmured. “Nothing happened. I slept on the couch and he tried to feed me and there were never enough pillows and _fuck_ , Dean, please, I’ve _missed_ you.” His voice was taking on the high-pitched tone that he’d had in his earlier panic and Dean rolled them both over to pull the blankets over their bodies, pushing his clothes off underneath and chucking them across the room.

“Yeah, Cas. I missed you too, God, have I missed you. Let’s just, let’s...yeah.” He pressed his face into Castiel’s hair, holding him tightly, reveling in the feeling of having him back in his arms.

It took another handful of weeks to get back to where they had been. They spent that time together tiptoeing around each other, their conversations quiet and soft spoken. The days that Dean got home before Castiel, he made dinner for the whole household, always one of Castiel’s favorites, something to silently aid in closing the rift between them.

Thankfully, Bobby, nor Sam said anything about their fight. As far as Bobby was concerned, Castiel’s ring never left Dean’s hand so he knew that they’d work it out eventually and tried his best to stay out from the crossfire.

Finally one evening when Dean and Castiel were sitting in their room, doing their own activities, Castiel blurted out, “Can we stop this?”

Dean tore his eyes from his computer. “Huh?”

Castiel was sprawled across the bed, in such a familiar way that Dean nearly bit his tongue flashing back to the first few months they’d known each other. “ _This_ , this, this _hesitance_ around each other. I’m sick of it! I want to come home and hear you complain about work over a bowl of ramen and be upset for two minutes that you didn’t make dinner and then, and then,”

Dean lurched out of his chair, crossing the room to join Castiel on the bed. “Cas, dude, yes, please.”

Castiel laughed, a slightly hysterical sound, burying his face in his hands. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

Dean only laughed and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “We always work it out though, don’t we?”

And work it out, they always did. Castiel laid in bed that night, carefully stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair, thinking of that fight and how it simultaneously distanced them and brought them closer together. So while it had been annoying, Dean’s reluctance to discuss the wedding made sense, and he’d hoped he had fixed it today, he hoped that Dean would join he and Jo in talking about wedding arrangements. The date was drawing closer, Dean finally had a suit and the details were growing more and more minute, invitations had already gone out, courtesy of Sam.

And now, Castiel laid in bed, watching his fiancee sleep, his heart swelling yet again. “Dean Winchester,” he murmured, finally laying down and pulling the blankets over himself. “When will I stop falling for you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://veganasana.tumblr.com/) to send me prompts, or any suggestions you'd like to see. As always, comments are my oxygen, so those would be great as well :)  
> A giant thank you hug to [Ara](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ByArasDesign/pseuds/ByArasDesign/) for being my kinda/sorta beta reader <3


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